Let Sleeping Lions Lie
by maeveiluka88
Summary: 1978 / Hermione: tasked with bringing down Voldemort... from the inside. Meddling with time is dangerous, and meddling with Voldemort even moreso, but the addition of an intrigued Sirius Black, distrustful Remus Lupin, and a headstrong Regulus Black, while vital to the plan, may complicate matters. After all, human nature can ruin even the best laid plans. SBHG Time Travel slowburn
1. Prologue

**25 June, 1978**

 **The Beginning**

Sirius Black awoke with a start the morning of his brother's birthday. He forgot for a moment, why the day seemed important, before realisation clouded his dark eyes and he let out a loud groan, throwing his arm up to block out the day.

The bedclothes beside him stirred, and as he chanced a glance from underneath his arm, he realised that he had little-to-no chance of a sleep-in owing to the fact that he was not in his own flat, and there was an unknown witch in the bed (also not his own) next to him. Oh yes, and in addition to being his brother's birthday, it was also the day his best mate would marry the love of his life.

"Fuck." He mouthed, spotting the clock on the wall reading 10.30am.

It wasn't that he was against "the morning after" in principle, but a sense of urgency shadowed his need to leave without being caught, simply because he didn't want to be caught up for too long – Prongs would _murder_ him if he was late.

His head throbbed unpleasantly as he sat up, taking care not to disturb the blonde woman, who let out a tiny but inelegant snore. He quietly collected his belongings, pulling on his trousers and shoes, and closing the door with a click.

And ran almost directly into Remus Lupin.

"Moony!" Sirius shouted, a little more jovially than he perhaps felt, wincing as his head pounded in unhappy response.

"Hey Pads." Remus had a vial of Hangover Potion in his hand, which was passed to and swallowed by his wayward friend in short order, "Bad night of it?"

"Dunno, can't remember. She wasn't a troll by any means, though. What the hell are you doing here?"

"A direct quote from you as you were manhandled from the bar last night: 'Moony, I'm going to need a double dose of the Hangover Brew in the morning.'"

Sirius threw a glance back at the closed door, as the fierce pounding behind his eyes ebbed as the potion took effect. He had a number of questions pertaining to _how_ exactly Remus had known where to find him, but the werewolf had a number of abilities that had yet to be explained, and he somehow thought today wasn't the day to argue the point.

In any case, they were due at the Potter estate in under an hour, and Sirius had to pick his robes on the way, so there was little time for dalliance. He noted, with a little surprise, that Remus was already dressed in formal robes, his hair slicked back and face shaved.

He offered his arm to his friend, who took it as they spun on the spot and were drawn into temporary non-existence.

* * *

Marlene McKinnon didn't have a whole lot of experience with being friends with other girls, and even less with calming down a panicking bride.

"Marlene, we've only been together a year, _I thought I hated him before then."_ Lily Evans was normally a very sensible woman, so how she had been reduced to tears at the thought of marrying a man she was so clearly in love with was completely beyond Marlene.

"Lily Evans, if you don't stop this nonsense this minute, I'll break up with James _for you_ and snog him at the altar myself."

Both girls jumped at the sudden intrusion of Sirius Black into their conversation. He had leaned into the room unbidden, and was currently flashing them a blinding grin, somewhat marred by the smell of cigarettes and whiskey being emitted from his person.

Lily wrinkled her nose, and bustled over to him with her wand aloft, forgetting her previous panic as she cast several charms to put his clothing and features right, his belt doing itself up.

"You smell like a brewery Si. What have you been into?"

"A blonde witch twice my age."

Simultaneous groans from the two witches, Lily rolling her eyes.

"You're welcome, by the way," Lily said, "Can't have you holding James up at the altar when he faints if you're busy holding your pants up."

He blew them a kiss and left the room, considerably less rumpled than he had entered.

"You ready, Lil?" Marlene smoothed her own dress over her knees, suddenly nervous for her best friend.

"Never readier." Lily smiled, and she suddenly became radiant in the simple white dress trimmed in lace.

Marlene, who was a fan of dark eyeliner and red lips herself, had applied a light dusting of makeup to Lily's face for her special day, not wanting to conceal her friend's features. This had been the right choice, she realised now as her friend glowed with happiness.

"C'mon McKinnon." Sirius was back, offering his arm to her, and then they were walking down to aisle, some steps in front of Lily. They both turned when they reached the altar, and watched as Lily appeared in the doorway.

James Potter's eyes were suspiciously damp as the piano accompanied his fiancée down the aisle, and then she was in front of him, their hands linked, and the ceremony began.

Later, when Lily was asked, she could not recall a single detail from the ceremony, which passed in a blur, except the overwhelming feeling of love.

From the back of the crowd, unnoticed by all, a curly haired witch of nearly 19 watched the proceedings.

* * *

 **Authors Note: Hi all, welcome to my SBHG time travel fic. I'm really into this type of fic right now, and I thought I'd give it a crack. Let me know what you think of it.**

 **~ Alycat**


	2. 1: So It Goes

**22 August, 1978**

 **So It Goes**

Remus Lupin had an acute sense of smell and hearing, granted to him by the wolfish aspects of his makeup. So, when a strange witch who smelled of wildflowers in a book shop muttered, "oh, Remus." after accidentally running into him, his curiosity was piqued.

"Wait!" He caught a hold of her hand as she brushed past him, and their eyes met, "Do I know you?"

"You do not." She said loftily, and he was surprised by the warning in her tone.

"You said my name."

Her lips curved into a smile, and she said, with a knowing look, "I didn't say that I don't know you, Moony."

Her hand slipped from his grasp, and by the time he had reached the exit she had taken, the ring of Disapparition was already echoing in the doorway.

He made his way back to the flat he shared with Sirius in Westminster, confused and annoyed. He was a couple of days post-moon, and a little worse for the wear, and his housemate had not been home that morning to complain to.

He cursed mildly to himself when he realised the strange woman had distracted him from getting the book that he had wanted to.

"Sirius!" He shouted, as he opened the door, "I met the weirdest witch today-"

He cut himself off, upon coming face to face with both the Potters, and Sirius, in his kitchen.

"Finally found a skirt to chase, eh Moony?" James' eyes twinkled behind his glasses, and Remus growled in his throat.

"Not that kind of witch. I mean, she seemed to know me."

"In the Biblical sense?" Sirius was teasing, but Remus let out another huff anyway.

"Can you be serious for one fucking minute?"

"I am always Sirius, Moony, who else would I be?"

Remus held his head in his hands for a moment, groaning at the pun he had walked straight into. James snorted, and he hear the tell-tale sound of Sirius being slapped over the back of the head by his brother in all but blood.

"She called me Moony." That got their attention, Sirius blanching and James startled.

"Like she _knew_ knew, or just as a nickname?" Remus furrowed his brow at this question.

"Nickname. I didn't get the sense that she is dangerous, just that she knew me."

They all exchanged a worried look, and even as Lily changed the subject to her intention to begin looking for a Healing apprenticeship, the concern lingered in the Marauders' eyes.

* * *

Hermione sat in the corner of a small French restaurant run by a wizard in Central London. It was just after the lunchtime rush, so the restaurant was mostly empty, bar a miserable looking young man with grey eyes sitting across from a stiffly sat older woman.

The elder woman was Walburga Black, a horrible woman as accounted for by all who knew her, and the cowed and dejected posture of her youngest son and only heir seemed to confirm this (admittedly biased) assessment of her being.

Hermione was charmed with a Notice Me Not and seated close enough to overhear the hushed conversation from the two Blacks.

"-Abraxas says it's more a business proposition for the purest of us, a Dark Lord to lead the purge of filth from our society. Of course, I am but a woman, and I have no place in men's business, but it would befit you well to be making connections to the Malfoys and see where this can go."

A 17-year-old Regulus Black nodded robotically, and Hermione felt physically ill. Little wonder that he had joined the Death Eaters in his seventh year, with that type of pressure from his mother.

 _Finite_ -ing her charm, she stood, and then took a seat, two tables down, with the two Blacks. Walburga looked outraged, and Regulus indifferent, at the intrusion.

" _Excuse me."_ The elder Black's voice had the shrieking quality that would one day be glued to a wall in the hallway of Grimmauld Place already, and frankly Hermione was impressed with the pitch, "This was a _private conversation,_ who on _earth_ do you think you are?"

Hermione held up a hand to silence the woman, glanced around, and cast a _muffliato,_ before turning to address the pair whose lunch she had interrupted.

"I apologise for the intrusion, but it is strangely difficult to get a hold of you, Lady Black." She schooled her tone with airs of aristocracy, and the woman's gaze softened slightly.

"Yes, well, I don't wish to be contacted by lowborn filth." She sniffed, and Hermione choked back a biting remark.

"Completely understandable," She replied smoothly, "However, frustrating on my part, I'm sure you understand. My name is Hermione Selwyn, I am a distant cousin of the British branch of the Selwyn family."

Walburga relaxed further, upon recognising the name of a Sacred 28 family, "My apologies for the hostility, Lady Selwyn, I'm sure you can understand my hesitation in such a time where they will let anyone into our community."

She nodded, "As I said, completely understandable. I have a matter to speak of, and it is a matter of urgency."

Lady Black indicated for her to continue.

"The Dark Lord Voldemort, of whom you speak, would greatly benefit from my counsel," She held up her hand again when Walburga, aghast at her nerve, made to interject. "I am a Seer, from a long line of very talented Seers, and I have Seen what the Dark Lord knows not."

The Blacks gaped at her, and she noted they all seemed to have the same grey eyes that looked through you.

"I would thank you to speak of this to no one, except the Malfoys, whom I wish to be put in contact with."

Regulus spoke, "I can put you in contact with Lucius, Abraxas Malfoy's son."

"Wonderful. I have a room in the Leaky Cauldron. I trust I will hear from you promptly."

With this, she stood and exited the restaurant, only pausing to place a small purse of jingling coins on the waiter's station. In her wake, a faint floral perfume and two utterly bewildered Black's remained.

* * *

Sirius was nursing a strong cup of coffee when the smell of wildflowers invaded his senses. Glancing around, he spotted a young woman with an abundance of hair exit a small, seemingly empty restaurant two building's down from him, into a gust of wind that carried the smell of her perfume to him. She was petite and well proportioned, and he found himself appraising her from the café he was sitting in.

To his delight, she glanced over her shoulder and ducked into the same café he was sitting in. She took stock of the occupants, her gaze landing on him.

He smirked lazily, catching her eye and raising an eyebrow, a move that was yet to fail him. To his surprise, she smirked in response and made her way to his table. It had never been that effective before.

"Do you mind?" She asked, already sitting. He noted the shape of a wand holster under her Muggle clothing, and shook his head in response.

"I'm-"

"Sirius Black, yes, I know. Hello Padfoot."

His spine stiffened at this greeting, and he began appraising her with fresh eyes, "You met Moony last week."

"Yes." She smiled, "And quite a number of years before that."

"So, you do know him?"

"I know him, yes. He doesn't know me. Yet."

She seemed to be placing emphasis on the language she was using, and Sirius wasn't quite sure why. Primarily because he was trying to make sense of the words she was saying, let alone the way she was saying it.

Sensing that he wasn't going to comment on her words, she continued, "The Prewett twins, Gideon and Fabian. On your mission this Friday, watch their backs. Greyback will be there, so I'd suggest switching Moony out."

"Is that a threat?" Sirius wasn't relaxed or flirtatious anymore, this strange witch had him on guard.

"Not at all. Just be careful. Moony can't take Greyback unless the moon is full. Padfoot can't take him either, so don't you dare try."

"How-?!"

"And watch Dolohov. Take him out early if you can."

"I-"

"Your mother really is as horrible as you always said."

She smiled knowingly, and if eyes were the window to the soul, hers were firmly shuttered. He sat, slightly slack jawed, as she left the café and disappeared around the corner, before leaping up, tossing a £10 note on the table, and bolting after her.

And came face to face with his mother and brother, exiting the same restaurant he had seen her come from less than ten minutes ago. The girl with an abundance of hair was nowhere to be seen, and his mother was looking down her nose as best she could from a foot below his height as though he was dog shit on her shoes.

"Come, Regulus. This is clearly a slum." She sneered the last word and swept past him as though he wasn't there. Regulus trotted obediently behind her, accidentally catching Sirius's eye before staring determinably at the floor, chagrined.

He wasn't sure who she was, but he was worried.


	3. 2: Meet Cute

**19 September, 1978**

 **Meet Cute**

Regulus Black resisted the urge to fidget nervously as he stood next to an apparently unaffected Lucius Malfoy. The mysterious Selwyn witch was due any moment now, and if all went well, Lucius would take her to meet his master.

A muted crack sounded behind them, and each of the otherwise proficient wizards found themselves with a wand in their backs.

"My my, boys, I thought you would have been more careful in this environment." She muttered in his ear, and he shuddered.

Lucius snarled, turning to draw his own wand, but she swiftly disarmed him, catching his wand with her left hand, still pointing one of her two wands at Regulus.

"Nice try, Lucius." She smirked, and offered him back the wand she had just confiscated. His cheeks were stained ruddy with anger as he snatched the wand from her.

"Not, perhaps, a fortuitous introduction, Lady Selwyn." Regulus spoke quietly, and she grinned, entirely too familiar with him.

"Ah, not so, Reggie," He cringed at the childish nickname, "Lucius now knows I am not a witch to be crossed."

And she was right, Regulus could see the grudging respect in Lucius' expression, even as his lip curled in a snarl.

"Hermione Selwyn." She offered her hand to Lucius, ducking into deep and well-practised curtsey. Lucius took her hand, bowed and kissed her knuckles.

"A pleasure, Lady Selwyn, to meet such an intriguing and powerful witch." Lucius' words were sweet, but poisoned, and Hermione did not look as though she took the words at face value. A smart woman.

"Now," Her voice snapped to a businesslike tone, "I don't have long to dally, and I have something your master needs."

"Regulus has communicated your claims."

"You and Narcissa will have one child, a son, to be born in 1980." She spoke directly to him, "Narcissa will not have an easy couple of years leading up to that. I expect she has already begun to have miscarriages."

Lucius was speechless.

"I will not tell you his name, but he will be named for the Black family tradition, and you will love him so much."

"How do you know this?" He snapped.

"I have Seen," was all Hermione would say, "The Dark Lord will benefit from my counsel."

Lucius shot Regulus a look of deep frustration. Hermione caught this and laughed.

"This isn't how I wanted to be spending my birthday either, trust me."

"Happy birthday, I guess." muttered Regulus.

"Very well," Lucius straightened his spine and offered Hermione his arm, "Be warned, you will be thoroughly scrutinised."

With a sneer that rivalled that of the Malfoy heir, Hermione took his arm. She shot Regulus an apologetic look, although what for Regulus did not know, and they were pulled into non-being with a loud crack.

And once more, Regulus was left alone.

* * *

Sirius sat across from Remus as he talked, but it was clear from a glance at his face that he was miles away. Remus sighed, picking up his ale and sipping it, ceasing his sentence midway.

He sat in complete silence for a few beats, before asking, "Sirius, what's wrong?"

The dark-haired wizard started, seemingly pulled out of his reverie, "Hmm? Oh. Sorry Moony."

They lapsed back into silence for another couple of moments.

"I think I met your witch."

"Am I to presume you mean the one who seems to know me and not the witch I was bollocks deep in three weeks ago after too much firewhiskey?" He kept his tone light.

"She was brunette, lots of hair," Sirius used his hand to indicate the twists and curls, and Remus nodded, "Smelt like a florist, knew my name and that you lot call me Padfoot."

"Well it's good to know I wasn't just imagining this."

"She knew about you Moony. Warned me off taking you on mission Friday, because Greyback will be there." He spat the last name.

Remus looked up at this, "How the _fuck_ did she know that?"

"That's not even the weirdest part," He didn't answer his friend's question, "She came out of a restaurant, closely followed by my _mother."_

 _"_ No, Sirius, go back to the part where she knew about Greyback!"

"Look, I think we need to go to Dumbledore."

"Padfoot!" James' voice rang out in the darkness of the pub, "Moony! My men!"

He then flung himself into a chair between them, slopping butterbeer down his front as he did so. Lily followed, rolling her eyes and Vanishing the offending beverage from his clothes before depositing herself in his lap.

"What's this about good ol' Albie?" James asked.

"Please don't call him that." Remus could feel a headache coming on. "Sirius met that weird witch, and she knows about me."

"How much are we talking?" His eyes were still sparkling, and Remus sighed.

"She knows about Greyback."

"And she talked to my mum." Sirius interjected, looking thoroughly downtrodden, "Came out of a restaurant followed by Walburga and Reg."

James cursed, "All I wanted was one night, _one night,_ without something weird happening."

"Preaching to the choir."

"We can call Albus from the cottage." Lily, ever the rock in stormy waters, was calm. Her eyes revealed she was troubled, but only to those who knew her.

* * *

As it turned out, they didn't need to contact Albus, as he was waiting for them when they arrived.

"Good evening."

"Evening Albus," said Lily, "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, in fact something quite exciting is happening," his eyes twinkled, "But I suspect these young men have already met our new friend."

"Friend?"

"Well, I certainly hope we'll be friends." The new voice was accompanied by a floral scent that Remus recognised immediately, and his head swivelled to meet the gaze of the curly haired witch who had been plaguing him since August.

"Who the _fuck_ are you?" He growled, and the rest of the Marauders looked startled by his sudden aggression.

"My name is Hermione. For the sake of anonymity, my surname is Selwyn."

"That's a lie."

She looked exasperated, "Yes, Remus, I know. But I'm hardly going to give you my real name, it would put a lot of us in danger."

"Why don't we convene inside?" suggested Albus, and Lily nodded in agreement. Remus eyed the witch, Hermione, and they filed into the cottage.

"Tea?" Lily offered, already bustling around the small kitchen.

"Firewhiskey?" Sirius countered, and Lily handed him a tumbler, prepared for his answer.

Remus fidgeted with his wand, seated at the dining table. Lily placed a cup of tea in front of him, and the teapot in the centre of the table. Hermione Selwyn spooned one teaspoon of sugar and a dash of milk into his cup, and he narrowed his eyes.

"This isn't a tea party," he grumbled, "Get on with it. Who are you, and how do you know so much about us?"

Hermione indicated for everyone to sit, and once they were all seated, she addressed them.

"I'm from some time in the future. 1999, to be specific."

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: Hi all! Obviously Sirmione isn't as popular as Dramione haha... my focus will be on Once Bitten, Twice Shy, because the chapters are just rolling out easily. I find this one a little more challenging, as I'm trying not to replicate ones I have just read, and making sure it's my own.**

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! I like to know what everyone is thinking!**

 **~ Alycat**


	4. 3: Interloper of the Future Variety

**September 21, 1978**

 **Interloper of the Future Variety**

Remus snorted, and paused as though waiting for the punchline. Hermione observed him with patient eyes.

"Fuck off," Sirius interjected, and Hermione tore her eyes from Remus to meet Sirius' incredulous gaze.

"I assure you it's true." It was Albus who spoke this time, in a gravelly tone that allowed no argument.

There was another beat of silence.

"I'm sure you have lots of questions."

"Yeah, the first of being _how_ you know so much about us." Remus took a defensive stance, which looked almost comical hunched around his cup of tea.

"Because I know you in the future, Remus John Lupin," She held her hand up as he made to speak again, "You were my DADA professor at Hogwarts. You're a werewolf, you were bitten by Fenrir Greyback when you were four. He's truly awful, by the way, I was rather glad when he died."

Remus left his mouth agape. She turned on to James and Lily, and beamed.

"James! Lovely to meet you! I've heard so much about you. And you, Lily."

She shook their hands, one after the other.

"Sirius," Her face softened, and Remus smelt the change in her mood as he sulked into his tea.

"Er... Hi." Sirius was not usually tongue tied around women, but he had no idea what to say.

"I was allowed to teach?"

"How do you know Reggie? And Walburga?" The cat had un-got Sirius' tongue, and Hermione grinned, an eye-crinkling, cheek-hurting smile.

"I met them just over a month ago. Walburga is the world's largest, ugliest single-celled organism."

Sirius barked out a laugh, before catching Remus's eye and looking at his feet guiltily.

"It's not too late to save Reggie. He hasn't taken the mark yet."

Sirius snorted, "Not because he doesn't want to, I can tell you that."

"Alright," said Lily, "Can we, perhaps, have a real conversation about what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Sorry Lily, that was rude of me." Hermione apologised, and took a seat next to Remus, who stiffened. She looked expectantly towards Albus, and Sirius was struck quite suddenly with an image of a student sitting in rapt attention of her teacher.

"I suppose you're all wondering why I've gathered you here today." His eyes twinkled over his half-moon glasses, and Lily snorted into her tea. The wizards remained stoic-faced.

"Ms Selwyn here is, as she stated, from some time in the future. Although normally inadvisable to meddle with time, she tells me she's here on a Ministry-authorised mission."

All present blinked at him, and Hermione was the one to break the silence this time.

"I will be infiltrating Tom Riddle's operation. I have taken the first steps by meeting with your family, Sirius."

A beat of silence.

"You're not old enough to be in the Ministry, what are you, 16?" Remus scoffed.

"I'm 19," she shot back, "And you're not old enough to be fighting a war, but here we are."

"19 is still young-"

"I am a war heroine."

That ended conversation quite effectively. The Marauders stared slack jawed at the small witch who looked too young to have even left school yet.

James sputtered, "A _war heroine?"_

"Yes, James, a war heroine. I've seen more and endured more than _any_ of you – except maybe you, Remus, sorry -" an apologetic glance his way, "at this point in the timeline, and I intend to stop you from enduring any more than I have."

"Greyback – how did you know?"

"Remus," She was exasperated, "We've already been over this. I _know_ you. I _know_ Sirius. You don't know me yet, but you will."

"What about us?" asked Lily quietly.

Hermione looked pained, and wouldn't meet her eyes, "I know of you."

Sirius' chest seized with the implication.

"I've already begun my infiltration. I'm using the name Selwyn because they're a well-connected Pureblood family with branches all over Europe. I met with your mother and brother because they're a chink in the armour," she was thoughtful for a moment, "Well, your brother is. As discussed previously, your mother is an evil hag."

Sirius swallowed another laugh.

"Using my knowledge of the future, I'm able to predict," in quotation marks, "some events. Mostly irrelevant, but enough to make Riddle think twice about casting me aside."

"So you're just going to waltz up to You-Know-Who and demand to be let into his circle?" from James.

"And you think that will _work?"_ from Remus.

She looked smug, "I've already met him."

Sirius choked on his sip of Firewhisky, " _What?"_

"I had Reggie introduce me to Lucius Malfoy, who took me to a meeting with Riddle."

"Hermione, that is so dangerous!" Lily was horrified, Hermione unaffected.

"I am aware. Anyway, I've begun to sink claws into his mind about the possibility of being overthrown. All rubbish at this stage, but I've thrown in some true predictions, so he believes that I can See."

She paused to take a breath, and Albus indicated for her to sit, which she did.

"So," Albus turned to the others seated, "Any questions?"

* * *

Harry Potter sat across the table from Draco Malfoy. He had yet to try and throttle him, a miracle by all accounts.

Kingsley entered the room, and Harry stood, followed by Malfoy, to shake the hand of the Minister for Magic.

"Right. Give me a break down of what we have so far." Kingsley said, giving the floor to Harry.

"About 3 months have passed in 1978 since Hermione arrived. We have compiled the reports left in Albus's safe, for your perusal. They will be on your desk in the next couple of hours."

Draco unrolled a sheaf of parchment with a meticulously etched timeline and took over, smoothly, "Granger has made contact with Riddle via my father, circa September 19th. She reports also having made contact with Dumbledore, and a number of Order members, including the Potters, Black, and Lupin. She's also made contact with Regulus and Walburga Black."

Kingsley cast an eye over the timeline and nodded approvingly, "Good. Things are on track, this is excellent."

"We expect Granger to be in 1978 for a further six months before she has to report back to the current time. Given that we have no idea what changes will come with her actions, we've created a charm."

Malfoy cleared his throat, and raised his wand to the parchment, " _Eadem."_

His wand sparked a warm white, and the parchment didn't change at all.

Kingsley raised his eyebrow.

"It will now withstand timeline shifts. When the events of the past change, so will the future, so we need to think of a way to ensure we are able to keep track."

Kingsley looked impressed, and Harry preened under his gaze for a moment.

Malfoy cleared his throat again, and they both looked back to him.

"In any case, according to our comprehensive notes, the first change has already been made to our previous timeline," His grey eyes met theirs, stoic.

"And?" Potter was impatient.

"According to Granger's notes, in the original timeline, my father lived."

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: Aggghhhh. Sorry this took so long! I had a real writers block and the words refused to flow onto paper. I know it's short, hopefully the next chapter will be longer. Please read and review!**

 **~Alycat**


	5. 4: Chronology

**24 September 1978**

 **[4] Chronology**

"As in Lucius Malfoy?" Potter confirmed.

"Yes. In this timeline, Lucius died in late 1980, when I was just a few months old. Originally, he was still alive now."

"That must have changed a few things," murmured Kingsley.

"Yes. In the original timeline I was forced into servitude at the age of sixteen to the Dark Lord."

Potter looked faintly nauseated.

"Well then," commented Kingsley, "I suppose you have something to thank Miss Granger for upon her return."

"According to Granger," he continued as though Kingsley had not spoken at all, "She hasn't had a whole lot of interaction with my father, so his erasure from the timeline is largely coincidental. That is to say, at this point she is only affecting the timeline with her presence rather than her actions."

"So it could change?" Kingsley confirmed, and Draco nodded.

"Do you think there's an alternate timeline where you don't piss me off?" Potter quipped, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"It seems unlikely," he retorted.

"What's the next step?" asked Kingsley, waving his hand over the stack of neat, comprehensive notes.

"Well. Her next task is to become engaged to Regulus Black."

* * *

Hermione stood stiffly at the door step of Grimmauld Place. Her back was corsetted into a rigid line; the robes she wore were old fashioned and prim.

She had been invited, via the Dark Lord, to attend a recruiting ball that Walburga Black was hosting. Her plans involved ingratiating herself to the Black's and so she raised a gloved hand and knocked on the door.

Almost immediately, the door creaked inwards, and she found herself face to face with Kreacher. He was younger, and better dressed, but he still caused a wave of revulsion that she choked down with a polite smile. After all, if she did this right, he'd never have the chance to kill Sirius with his betrayal.

"Elf," she said, with a haughty sniff, "Hermione Selwyn, for Mrs Black and the Dark Lord."

"Of course, Miss."

She followed Kreacher through the entry hall, noting absentmindedly that although the décor was in better condition than the last time she had been here (a year ago, or some 19 years into the future), it was still a miserable dreary house, with only weak strings of evening sunlight reaching through the hall lights towards her.

"Mistress Black, Miss Hermione Selwyn." Kreacher presented her to the drawing room, and Walburga rose, a greedy expression on her face.

"Miss Selwyn," she offered a cheek to Hermione, who kissed it with a barely contained shudder, "Delighted you could join us. You remember my son, Regulus?"

Regulus rose from an arm chair and kissed the back of her hand, lingering for just a moment as he caught her eye. She felt her cheeks heat.

"Your robes... They are beautiful." Walburga gave her an appraising look, and Hermione fixed her with an imperious stare.

"From Milan, of course."

"Of course," tittered the hag, "Only the best for a Selwyn."

 _Ah,_ thought Hermione, _that's what she's aiming for._

She pasted a simpering smile on her face and took a seat across from Regulus.

"Guests are invited to arrive at 6.30pm. We invited you early as I wish to... propose a _business_ partnership," Walburga was simpering, but Hermione did not forget that she was a Slytherin to her very core, and therefore could not be underestimated.

"You can propose, Madam Black, but keep in mind I am not in the _business,"_ her tongue curled around the word, a subtle mockery, "of making poor investments."

"Of course," Walburga said, dropping the simpering tone, "Miss Selwyn, despite your prestigious blood, you lack the family backing that is required to marry well in Britain."

Hermione bristled, "Goodness, Madam Black, what makes you think I intend to marry?"

At this statement, she caught Regulus's gaze, and dropped her eyes, purposely demure. He flushed.

"Miss Selwyn," said Walburga, horrified, "It is your duty."

"With all due respect," _that is to say, none at all,_ she thought viciously, "I have no immediate family and I currently answer to no one. Why on earth would I choose to tie myself to a man who will inevitably try to control me?"

She purposely caught and dropped Regulus's gaze again. Walburga let out a faint choking noise.

She raised her chin and met Walburga's eyes, before seeming to submit and drop her eyes to her her hands, twisting in her lap.

"The House of Black wish to take you under our Patronage." Walburga stated.

Hermione swallowed a smirk, mildly incredulous at the ease of which the Black matriarch had fallen in line with her plans, just as Sirius had said she would.

"I would be honoured," she said, keeping all expression from her voice.

 _Merlins beard, pureblood games are exhausting,_ she thought wryly, standing to dip into a curtsy.

"Tippy," called Walburga, fixing the neatly dressed house elf with an imperious glance, "Please fetch the Seringapatam emeralds from my closet."

Hermione managed, with some difficulty, to keep her jaw from dropping to the floor at the mention of jewellery that, as far as she knew, were normally stored in a museum in England. Nevertheless, Regulus caught her expression, and leant down to mutter in her ear.

"The jewels are a Black family Heirloom. Lady Lucy Ada was a Black descendent. The Muggles have a Gemino'd copy in their museum."

Hermione nodded appreciatively, and muttered back, "How grand. They are famous on the continent, of course, but I had no idea that they were a wizarding heirloom. Goblin made?"

Regulus nodded, almost imperceptibly, and they both straightened as Walburga turned back from the house elf with a flourish, revealing the Goblin wrought necklace ( _more a collar,_ she noted).

She let her genuine admiration cross her face, "Madam Black, they are exquisite."

"They are," she said with a proud look, "I would like you to wear them tonight to meet with the Dark Lord."

This time, Hermione couldn't stop her jaw from dropping, "But- I-."

"No," Walburga held her hand up to silence Hermione, "I won't hear of it. You are now our patronee and I won't have you dressed as anything less."

"Very well," she inclined her head in agreement, "In that case, thank you. I appreciate your generosity."

"Tippy, take Miss Selwyn to a guest suite and help her prepare for the ball."

"Yes Mistress." Tippy bowed until her nose hit the carpet, then grasped Hermione's wrist and took her to a guest suite that she recognised.

 _This is where Ron had slept when they were at Grimmauld,_ she realised with a start, _I recognise the vile curtains._

The curtains were certainly in better condition than they had been the last time she had seen them, brocaded green with _toujours pur_ stitched into the hem, over and over again.

When the last Black male died ( _dies,_ she supposed), the window coverings, and in fact, most of the upholstery, that was stitched with the house Black motto became cursed, unfriendly to undesirable blood. She supressed a shudder.

She allowed Tippy to fuss over her hair and add more rouge and colour than she would otherwise wear, contemplative. She was where she had planned to be, but she couldn't help feeling, as the house elf secured the priceless family heirloom around her neck, that she had willingly walked into the vipers' nest.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE:** SORRY! I didn't mean for this to take so long, but work got hectic and so did home, and so my stories fell by the wayside.

Hopefully this is worth the wait! If you want to see Hermione's heirloom necklace, just google Seringapatam emeralds. They're very famous, and gorgeous, if ostentatious.

I hope you like the back and forth as Hermione navigates Pureblood politics and plays their games better than they do.

Next chapter, we finally meeting 1970s Tom Riddle.

 **Please read and review!**

~ **Alycat**


	6. 5: The Viper's Nest

**24 September 1978**

 **[5] The Viper's Nest**

Hermione stood at the head of the staircase, Regulus at her shoulder. She was shaking like a leaf.

"Are you okay?" murmured Reg, genuine concern radiating from his voice.

"Mhmm," she nodded, gritting her teeth, "I have never been to an event such as this. I am... nervous."

Nervous that she was about to face Voldemort and pretend all was fine and dandy, but whatever. Tomatoes, tomatoes.

Regulus nodded in understanding as Hermione took a cleansing breath and slammed her Occlumency shields firmly into place.

"My first ball was nerve-wracking also. Siri- I mean, I wasn't expected to be at engagements until I was 14, so I was late to the game as well."

 _When Sirius left,_ she realised, finishing his sentence silently. He was the youngest son and large social engagements were duties for the heir. She put her hand on his arm, gripping tightly, as they made their slow descent.

Walburga was standing at the foot of the stairs, the first in a receiving line of men and women who all looked like they were, a; from 1800s nobility, something that wasn't as improbable as she thought, she realised, which led to b; all looked like they were about ready to fall off their perch.

"My son, Regulus." Walburga introduced him to two ancient women in corseted robes, who tittered.

"Such a handsome boy. A Slytherin too! I don't know how you stood the shame of your blood-"

"A pleasure to meet you," interrupted Regulus, kissing each of their proffered cheeks. Hermione chanced a glance at Walburga, whose face had drained of colour, "May I introduce you to Hermione Selwyn?"

Hermione stumbled into a curtsey and smiled charmingly, "Lovely to meet you."

"Ms Selwyn has joined us from Europe, an orphan I'm afraid," divulged the Black matriarch, "We've taken her on as a patron, of course."

There was some more tittering, as each of the well-dressed leathery bats curtsied in response, greedily eyeing the emerald jewellery that Walburga had insisted she wear.

"A good match, I say," muttered one of the women to Walburga, whose pinched face showed barely contained rage, still simmering from the mention of her eldest son.

She flared her nostrils, smiled tightly and nodded, "I am not opposed if a connection is forged."

Hermione barely resisted rolling her eyes, pretending not to hear, and continued down the receiving line. She recognised names but not faces of a number of people.

A firm hand gripped hers and Lucius Malfoy raised it to his lips, his eye catching hers and gleaming.

"Ms Selwyn. Always a pleasure."

Hermione forced her expression to remain demure, "Mister Malfoy. You look well."

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, "I am, thank you."

"I'm sorry to hear of your wife's miscarriage." she replied, softly, and his grip tightened again, his eyes taking on a sheen.

"Thank you, I will pass on your well wishes."

They moved on, and Regulus leant again to mutter in her ear, "I had not heard of his wife's miscarriage."

She nodded, "Likely no one else has either. I have Seen it."

At last they reached the end of the receiving line, and a tidily dressed House Elf led them to be seated at a banquet table that edged the ballroom, around the dancefloor. A string quartet of what looked like river sprites played a vaguely familiar melancholic tune, barely audible above the hum of conversation.

"How did you find it?" asked Regulus, once they were seated.

"If you'd told me it was mainly curtseying for ancient handbags, I might've concentrated more on practising how to curtsey without falling over, and less on being nervous."

Regulus laughed, and she was struck by the similarities between Regulus, aged 17, and the Sirius she knew – had known – in 1996, smile lines, crow's feet, and 12 years in Azkaban aside.

"Yes," he said agreeably, "I think us men are a little spoiled with our bows. I had one of the House Elves try and teach me to curtsey once, when I was a boy, and I ended up on my arse more often than not."

Hermione stifled a giggle, unused to hearing Regulus curse. He seemed to realise what she was laughing at and looked chagrined.

"Apologies, I would normally not swear in front of a lady."

"Come off it Reg, I was essentially raised by my father's stable hand. I assure you they are not at all considerate of the presence of ladies."

Reg grinned, and then his expression dropped, and a hush went around the room. She whipped her head around, the movement catching the eye of Tom Riddle as he faced the room of people who had hushed in his presence.

He was, for now, still a good-looking man, middle-aged by Muggle standards, but not a single fleck of white had dared to interrupt the perfectly styled inky locks. His face was smooth – too smooth, in fact. It had warped and settled over his bones like melted wax, slightly inhuman.

Her thoughts Occluded, she raised her chin and met his red-glinted gaze. She felt the tendrils of his magical core bump against her barriers as he probed gently.

 _No one gets access,_ she thought, firmly, _Not the Minister, not my lover, and not you, Tom Riddle._

Tom flinched, minutely, at her use of his birth name, and withdrew his magic. The conversation had risen in the background without her noticing in the time she had spent locked in a staring match with him.

"Hermione?" Regulus brought his hand to her elbow, and she jumped, coming back to the present with an unpleasant lurch to her stomach.

"Ah, sorry Reg."

"He's a compelling presence," he remarked, referring to the would-be Dark Lord, "I'd normally warn women away, but you clearly would not listen to that advice."

Hermione pursed her lips, oscillating between disapproving of the general air of sexism, or being please that he'd already realised that she wouldn't be swayed.

Regulus rolled his eyes and snorted, "You know what I mean."

Dinner was a boring affair; the food was good, but the rest of their table was filled with dull upper crust pureblood men who wanted to speak about politics (of the exterminate-Mudbloods variety) and dull upper crust pureblood women who wanted to speak about other dull upper crust pureblood women. Neither of these things made for scintillating conversation, and if she listened too long to the men, she could practically feel her blood pressure rising.

"Dance with me?" Regulus stood, offering a hand to her. She accepted, noting the women at their table begin to gossip as he led her to the dancefloor. He took her by the waist as the string quartet struck up an upbeat symphony.

"You're certainly causing a stir," Hermione commented, nodding in the direction of the women at their table.

His eyes twinkled, and he swept her into a dip, her hair nearly brushing the floor. She almost yelped in surprise, managing to clam her mouth shut before it escaped. When he pulled her back to his height, leading them gracefully into a box step, he murmured in her ear, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

They simultaneously slid their gaze to their table, where one of the older women sat with her mouth ajar, and the others whispering furiously. Reg chuckled, directing her into a spin and then drawing her back.

The band finished up their piece and they bowed to each other, Hermione flushed from exertion and Regulus with a broad smile.

"May I cut in for the next dance?" A deep voice interrupted, and a pale hand with smooth porcelain skin was held out in offering. Hermione rose from her curtsey to survey the face of Tom Riddle, whose mouth was smiling but eyes were not.

"Of course, my lord." Regulus brushed his lips along her knuckles and released her to the metaphorical wolves.

They began to move in lazy circles, the Dark wizard laying his hand lightly on her waist. Hermione noted the narrow-eyed gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange on their every step, and fought a shudder

"Ignore Bella," he said, noticing her attention was elsewhere, "She has firm opinions on who is worthy of my time, and you have not yet convinced her."

She snorted, unable to help herself, "I think you will find her utterly infatuated with you and unwilling to share your attention with another woman."

He chuckled, "Very astute, Miss Selwyn."

"I would be surprised if there was anybody who had not noticed," she replied, "But you did not ask me to dance for the sake of a dance, nor to discuss Madame Lestrange's jealousies. So tell me what you really want, _Tom."_

He inhaled through his teeth at the sound of his given name, "I'd like to know where you have heard that name, to begin with."

"A girl should never kiss and tell," she responded blithely, feeling the hand on her waist tighten as he fought to maintain composure.

"I am not a man to be played a fool," his eyes were blue steel, razor sharp, "I would reconsider the answer you have provided."

She raised an eyebrow and hummed, "I've thought it over, and in doing so, have decided my initial answer was sufficient."

He growled lowly, tightening his grasp and pulling her against his chest. She was nose to nose with him, her heartbeat bouncing off his in a hypnotic melody; a lovers embrace to those looking on them. A glance at Bellatrix would have shown the cracks appearing in her wine glass, gripped hard as she witnessed the interaction.

"I am not afraid of you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, and you need me a lot more than you need to satisfy your ego by pretending your father isn't a Muggle."

" _Who are you?"_ His breath caressed her ear and she shivered, fighting the instinct to recoil.

The music came to an end with a dramatic crescendo, and a polite smattering of applause went around the room. Riddle held her tightly for another beat, and then released her to dip his head in a bow.

She curtsied in return, "A pleasure, my lord."

"Until we meet again," he replied; a threat, not a promise. He led her back to her table, bowed once more, and swept away.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: I'm sorryyyyyy... it's the usual excuses about how I'm busy with work and home and raising a child... but also we have moved house and I don't have internet right now so I promise it's not because I've forgotten.**

 **This chapter is extra long to make up for it. Please let me know what you think - read and review!**

 **I also figured out the reason that my fic wasn't getting any attention was because had somehow removed all my tags... it should be fixed now.**

 **See you soon! ~Alycat**


	7. 6: The Family Tree

**26 September 1978**

 **[6] The Family Tree**

Remus slapped the Daily Prophet down on the table in front of Sirius, the socials section open.

Sirius, hungover as he usually was at 7am, groaned, "Moony, I have less than zero interest in the Pureblood socials."

" _Look."_ he insisted, pointing to one of the pictures. Sirius squinted at the caption, then his eyes widened as they roved up to the picture. Curly hair, slim neck and glittering eyes, their newest ally chest to chest with their greatest enemy. The photo looped, his hand possessively pulling her to him

 _Newcomer Hermione Selwyn catches the attention of well-respected political faction leader Lord Voldemort_

"Political faction leader?" he snorted, then continued his examination of the page, "Shit, Moony, what the fuck."

His younger brother, his arm curled around her tiny waist as he dipped her, and she appeared to laugh uproariously.

 _Hermione Selwyn, new patronee of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, was presented at the annual Black Ball for the first time this Sunday. Pictured above with the Black heir Regular Arcturus Black, the pair appeared at ease as they exchanged flirtations on the dance floor._

"Patronee?" enquired Remus, reading over his shoulder.

"Means the Black family are playing patron to her, to boost her standing in high society." Sirius flung the paper away, his voice bitter.

"How the fuck did she end up with that?"

"The million Galleon question, isn't it?"

"She is, quite literally, dancing with the enemy." Remus didn't try and hide the disgust in his voice, "I knew I didn't trust her."

"Maybe there's an explanation," Sirius protested weakly, "She convinced Dumbledore."

"Maybe there's an explanation," Remus mimicked, "Like, maybe Dumbledore is losing it in his old age."

"Yeah maybe," he muttered, deflating, "We should see what the other's think."

"When's Wormy back in town anyway?"

"End of the week," Sirius perked up, "Wait till he hears about all the crazy stuff that's been going on."

"If he believes you. James is coming over before work, by the way."

As though summoned, the Floo flared green and their messy haired friend stepped out.

"Have you seen the Prophet?" He asked, holding a copy of the offending paper.

"Yes," groused Sirius, "She's pulling a con on one of us and it's not something I want to gamble on."

"Yeah, I knew you'd be mad," James flopped into the seat next to him, and Remus placed a cup of coffee in front of him, "What's she doing involved with Regulus?"

"What's she doing dancing with Lord fucking Voldemort?" Sirius retorted, "Reggie is mostly harmless, whatever. If she wants to willingly spend time with Walburga, that's a weird kind of masochism but whatever. That-" he flung a hand towards the top picture as Voldemort pressed against her again, "That is playing with fire."

"If you'll recall," said James drily, "I asked if she was just going to waltz up to Voldemort. I didn't realise quite how literally that would be taken."

The two other Marauders stared at him in disbelief.

James pressed his lips together in an attempt to hide his grin, quite unsuccessfully.

"Are you saying you believe her?" asked Remus sceptically.

"It's a long way to go for a practical joke Rem," he shrugged, "And she's convinced Dumbles."

"Dumbledore has lost it," Remus said decisively, "And so have you. I don't trust her as far as I could throw her."

"That's probably quite a long way," Sirius commented, his voice taking on an airy quality, "She's a slip of a thing."

"You're both-"

"We knew her task would involve infiltrating the Dark-"

"What task?" Remus exploded, "We haven't been told a damn thing and we're expected to just blindly trust her with our lives."

"Maybe it's better if we don't know," said James. His words stopped Remus in his tracks, his chest heaving. "She's risking a lot by being here. Meddling with time is dangerous enough."

The werewolf didn't say anything, just shot a glare at Sirius who refused to meet his eyes, then swept out of the kitchen and into his room, slamming the door behind him.

"Hmm," said James, sipping his still-steaming coffee, "That went well."

Sirius levelled a stare at his friend, "You knew that would set him off."

James shrugged, "It was going to happen anyway, now he'll go away and think about how much she's risking."

Sirius looked pained, "He's right though. We have no proof of how much she is risking."

"I think we should just take her at face value."

"I hope she knows what she's doing," he sneered at the photo of his brother, "Getting involved with the Black family is always messy."

* * *

Regulus woke early and rose before his dorm mates. He had been given leave for the Sunday and Monday to attend the annual Black Ball at his family home, and as a result had a sheaf of homework to catch up on before class.

He sat in front of the fire in the common room and wrote his name at the top of the parchment with a flourish. The essay was on the uses of the Essence of Murtlap in potions, and was relatively straightforward, if dull, but today he couldn't seem to concentrate.

He knew, of course, that his parents expected him to marry and produce an heir in short order after he graduated, but until that weekend it hadn't really occurred to him that it was a tangible choice he had to make. His mother was clearly angling for a match with the Selwyn witch, _Hermione,_ he thought. The Black matriarch had a gleam in her eye when she was determined, and Regulus somehow thought that Hermione was going to be more difficult to bend to his mother's will than she knew yet.

Not that he had anything against Hermione, who seemed to be equal parts grand and mysterious, nor any other witch of marrying age that his mother had introduced him to. He just seemed to view marriage as a separate entity to familial obligations, a view that set him apart from his parents.

Not for the first time, Regulus found himself wishing Sirius had just shut the fuck up and dealt with it until their parents keeled over so he didn't have to deal with his mother's meddling. A bit unfair, sure, but big brothers were meant to... ah, he didn't know. Pureblood families outside the Blacks tended not to have more than one child, so he had no real measure of what a brother was meant to do.

He heard a lumbering on the stairs and turned back to his essay to begin scratching his opening onto the parchment. Jon Avery sat with a heavy sigh in the other armchair in front of the fire. Regulus noticed out of the corner of his eye that his friend looked exhausted, a couple of curse marks marring his uncovered legs, and a trickle of dried blood on his hairline.

"Alright, Avery?" he asked, curious.

Avery craned his neck to read the opening lines of his essay, "Yeah, alright. A big night."

"Do you need Healing?"

Avery examined the marks on his leg like he hadn't noticed them before Regulus had mentioned then, "Oh, yeah. Anything for the cause, right?"

Regulus smiled vaguely in return and waved his wand over the marks. Unblemished skin spread over the marks until there were no signs it had ever been touched. He realised that Avery had probably been on a raid for the Dark Lord.

"Cheers."

They fell into silence again, and he continued with his essay.

The Dark Lord. The Daily Prophet called him a political leader, which was true, in a sense. He was unlikely to walk the physical halls of the Ministry, particularly with Albus Dumbledore in control of the Wizengamot majority, but he was a persuasive and charming man and an undeniably powerful wizard.

He was gathering followers rapidly and had representation in the Ministry bought with backroom politics and artfully arranged speeches that appealed to the fundamentals of the oldest Sacred 28 families (apart from the Weasley's, but no one counted the Weasley's).

He'd been following the movement with interest since he was 14 and took vicious pleasure in the disappointment it had caused Sirius up until the day he'd been blasted off the family tapestry. Served him right for consorting with mudbloods like Lily Evans and blood-traitors like Potter and served him right for abandoning him and turning his back on his family.

He realised Avery was looking at him.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"You're 17 now aren't you Reg?"

"Yeah," he said, knowing where the conversation was going.

"You should meet him," Avery's eyes gleamed in the half-light provided by the flickering tongues of fire, "He's got big plans."

"I have met him," Regulus responded, "It's been agreed that I should produce an heir before taking risks that could end my life and the Black bloodline."

Avery barked out a laugh, "Perils of pruning the family tree, what with your blood-traitor brother."

Regulus eyed him coldly, "He's not my brother, he's a traitor and a disgrace to the Black name."

His classmate looked uncomfortable when Regulus didn't break eye contact, "Sorry Reg, you know what I mean."

The conversation lapsed, and Regulus finished his potions essay as the windows showed the weak sunlight filtering through the depths of the Black Lake, bathing the room green.

Not long after, Amycus Carrow appeared in the doorway, a smug smile on his face, "Been busy Reg?"

He raised an eyebrow in response, and his friend held out a copy of the days Prophet, open to a spread of pictures from Sunday's ball. Avery snatched the paper from him and examined it, a gleeful look in his eyes.

"Looks like the Dark Lord's got eyes for your girl, Reg," he teased, turning the paper to show him the two pictures featuring the witch dancing at the ball, one with him and one with the Dark Lord.

He scoffed, "The Dark Lord doesn't concern himself with _women."_

Avery shrugged, "Just making an observation."

"She's a talented Seer," he said in explanation.

"And a patronee of the Black family," Avery read, "And a Selwyn _and_ she's fit."

"I don't think the Dark Lord would appreciate you compromising his newest plaything," Regulus snapped, suddenly irritated, "Especially not one who can predict the movement of his enemies."

"Sounds like your mother has designs to make her a Black," observed Carrow.

"Yes, I'm sure she does. She'd be a good match too." He echoed the words of the women at the ball and suppressed a sigh, wishing again that Sirius was the one dealing with their overbearing mother.

"I'm betrothed to marry Eleanor Rowle when the year lets out," commented Avery, unaware of his friend's internal grousing.

"The sixth year?"

"Yup," his lips popped the last letter of the word, "She'll be a housewitch, of course, so no point in her doing her NEWTS."

Regulus tried to imagine telling Hermione she couldn't finish her schooling and bit back the laugh that threatened to bubble up when he pictured her outraged face.

"What about you, 'cus?" Avery asked of their friend.

"Nope. Me and Alecto are serving the Dark Lord until the world is purged of filth," he said proudly, his chest puffing out, "Algot's getting married next summer to the Parkinson girl so he's taking care of the bloodline."

Algot was the eldest brother of the Carrow twins.

Regulus's face twisted in disgust, "Aster? Isn't she 15?"

Carrow nodded, unconcerned at the idea of a 15-year-old girl marrying a man ten years her senior. Avery was similarly unperturbed.

By this point Evan Rosier had also joined them in the common room, so Regulus packed his supplies into his bag, carefully rolling his essay after checking the ink was dry.

"I'm hungry," he announced, turning on his heel towards the portrait hole without a glance back. The others followed dutifully behind the Black heir.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: I'm on a roll this week, I've finished three chapters and they're ready to post. I'm trying to work into Sirius's character the volatility that is inborn to the Black family - he shouldn't be angry at Hermione, not really, but seeing her interact with his family when they cast him out so easily makes him bitter and angry. And Regulus is young and impressionable, he hasn't joined Voldemort yet but he admires his charisma and the beliefs are easy enough to subscribe to - he can blame blood traitors and mudbloods on losing his brother and doesn't have to face that his family might be wrong. In a way he's a coward choosing the path of least resistance, and Hermione knows it, so while her mission is primarily about infiltrating the Dark circles, the fact that Regulus is not an unwavering blood purist works in her favour if she wants to save him.**

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

 **~Alycat**


	8. 7: Best Laid Plans

**30 September 1978**

 **[7] Best Laid Plans**

Her first Order meeting since her arrival was about to begin and Hermione was just realising the task ahead of her. She sat at the back against the wall, shadowed, as members long dead in her own time filed in. Most didn't notice her, dressed in plain robes. Dumbledore sat beside her serenely, surveying the room over his half-moon glasses.

"RIGHT," barked Moody, signalling the beginning of the meeting. Several members in the front row jumped, "Welcome and so on. For newcomers, I am Alastor Moody. Head Auror at the British Ministry, boss of a number of dunderheads in this room," This throwaway was directed at Sirius, who rolled his eyes at the older man, "And I will be chair of this meeting today."

There was a smattering of applause, which the wizard waved off, "Longbottom, report."

Hermione watched with interest as Frank Longbottom rose. Tall and aristocratic, he exuded a confidence that she rarely saw in his future son, but when he quirked his lips into a smile and raised a hand in greeting, she saw the family resemblance shine through.

"Hi all, Frank Longbottom. One of the aforementioned dunderheads," he inclined his head towards Moody as a titter of laughter went around the room, "I track Death Eater activity as a part of my job and identify persons of interest."

He unrolled an enlarged page from the Prophet, a social section that Hermione realised, with a spike of alarm, was centred around two pictures of her from the previous Sunday night ball.

Frank didn't comment on the pictures first, he launched into a timeline of Death Eater activity, mostly focussed on a raid that had occurred that Monday in a mixed Muggle/Magical neighbourhood. One Muggleborn witch and two Muggles had died, baffling Muggle authorities with an apparent lack of cause of death. Dread pooled in her stomach, and she clenched her fist around the wand in her pocket.

He then turned to the Prophet page, "A new person of interest has appeared in the circles of known Death Eaters. She has been taken on as a Black family ward," an apologetic glance at Sirius, who sat impassively, "And made her debut at last Sunday's Black Ball. As you can see, You-Know-Who has taken an interest, which means she could be very dangerous."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, quietly, but it was enough to have the people around him glance at him and then alight on Hermione. She stood as whispers spread through the room and people turned to stare at her. Frank's jaw slackened when he followed the gazes of the crowd and landed on her small frame.

"Er... hi," she said unimpressively. Dumbledore stood and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"This is Hermione," he said, unnecessarily. Remus Lupin, seated next to Sirius, crossed his arms and whispered angrily into Sirius's ear.

"Hermione Selwyn," she added, "Don't worry, not a Death Eater," A weak grin.

"Albus, explain." McGonagall's lips thinned, and her nostrils flared, a sign of her annoyance.

"Hermione joins us from Europe, where she was privately educated. She has been tasked with infiltrating the Dark circles as a part of our multi-pronged attack."

Moody crossed to the back of the room to examine her, and she noted with some surprise that his body was intact – both legs, eyes, and an entire nose. His eyes were dark and sharp as he took in her appearance. She flinched away when he made to grab her left arm, angling the cursed scar into her body protectively.

He sniffed and turned away, taking a few steps before spinning and firing a spell – orange in colour – in a display of vicious speed. Hermione had erected a shield with one wand and settled in a defensive stance with the other poised for attack before the spell crackled against the barrier and dissipated.

Moody looked satisfied, "Very good, girl. You'd do well to observe," he directed this at the watching audience, "An excellent example of CONSTANT VIGILANCE."

He shouted the last words, those close to him jumping again at his raised voice, and then gestured to Hermione impatiently, "Come and introduce yourself, girl."

She moved forward before her brain had processed the command, finding herself at the front of the room next to Frank.

"Frank Longbottom," he said cheerfully, holding out a hand. She shook it, firmly, and smiled.

"Well," she started, purposefully ignoring the penetrating stares of the Marauders, "As Dumble- Albus said, I'm infiltrating the inner circles of Voldemort."

A couple of people flinched at the name.

She continued, "I'm using the fact that I am relatively unknown to my advantage. I have visions that I am passing on to him in part, to build enough trust that he takes counsel from me."

"There is a Death Eater called Selwyn," said a woman sitting in the second row. Her face was rounded and kind, but her eyes were shrewd, "Are you related?"

"Distantly," admitted Hermione, sending up a silent apology to the actual European Selwyn's, "My family is from Portugal; however, I was educated in a small British-run academy in Obidos."

Academia Portuguesa de Magia was indeed located in Obidos, and if anyone cared to examine the records of the school, they would find her results and enrolment record.

She had chosen Portugal out of genuine familial connection; her grandparents Leonor and Tomas Moniz had lived in Portugal for most of their lives before moving to Hampstead Garden, England when their daughter, Jeana Maria Moniz, married English dentist Richard Granger and had a daughter; Hermione Jean Granger.

She had fond memories of early childhood trips to Lisbon, her _Avó_ telling folktales in Portuguese, and of the discovery of the magical community in Portugal when she visited the small country early in her Hogwarts education.

The woman who had questioned her stood up and offered her hand. Hermione took it and tentatively shook her hand.

"Alice," she introduced herself, and then nodded her head at Frank, "Alice Longbottom. I'm also an Auror. If you've convinced Albus, you've convinced me."

 _Neville's mum,_ she realised. The physical resemblance was stronger than that to Frank, but her easy open demeanour was not something she had passed to her only son, in Hermione's time at least.

Dumbledore took the opportunity to clear his throat again, drawing attention back to him, "As I'm sure you can appreciate, Ms Selwyn is taking a significant risk by telling you this, and as such, I would like to place an Oath on the occupants of this room that this information will not leave the room."

She saw a number of creased foreheads and muttered words. Remus was surveying her warily, and she realised that Peter Pettigrew was sat on his other side.

"Of course," added Dumbledore, "If you don't wish to be bound by Oath, please come to the kitchen immediately to be Obliviated so as to not compromise the mission."

No one stood. Dumbledore looked around with a pleased expression and began the performance of the Indicare Charm.

Anyone who tried to speak of her mission with outside people would choke on their tongue, unable to speak. Attempts to write it down would freeze their fingers and disintegrate the parchment. Incredibly unpleasant and very difficult to circumvent. She relaxed her rigid shoulders as Dumbledore finished the charm, feeling a little safer for it.

* * *

She sat back in her seat at the back of the room, but she could feel the glances of the curious Order members, no longer inconspicuous in her plain robes. Moody began wrapping up the meeting, so Hermione took the chance to slip out before she could be mobbed with questions.

They had met, today, in Ipswich in an abandoned warehouse. It was at the top of a hill overlooking the port. She could see the cars lined up uniformly and the water beyond it glinting dimly in the overcast light. Her scar twinged and she rubbed it unconsciously.

A hand grabbed her elbow roughly. Hermione acted without thinking, jamming her elbow back into the body behind her, ducking underneath the arm and bringing her wand to the throat of Sirius Black.

She faltered, and he used her hesitation to swat her wand away from his throat and step back with his arms in the air, "Woah, it's just me."

"What almost got you expelled in your fifth year at Hogwarts?" She kept her wand trained at his chest.

His face drained of colour.

"Well?" she snapped, impatiently prodding the wand at him.

"I... er... tricked Snape into going after Moony."

She eyed him for another moment, and then dropped her arm.

"Merlin's balls, Sirius, why the fuck would you sneak up on me like that?" She flopped onto the grassy knoll with a sigh. He sat beside her, and she took a moment to examine him. He was clearly tired, and there was a tightness around his eyes, the only indication of his worry seeping through the vestiges of the mask of his Pureblood upbringing. Still, he looked content; whole.

"You went to the Black Ball," he stated, trying to keep the bitterness from flavouring his tone. From the look she gave him, it seemed he wasn't quite successful. It wasn't so much that he still wanted to attend himself but given how thoroughly and efficiently his family had dispatched him, his mother and brother taking to her so quickly left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Yes."

"How was dancing with the second-place Black heir?"

He was trying for a joke, but Hermione shot him a look of deep reproach, "You know, maybe if you got your head out of your arse for a bit, he wouldn't hate you so much for leaving him there."

He scoffed, "He fucking loves it, lording around the place with our parents kissing his arse."

She looked at him incredulously. "Are you actually that stupid, or do you have to try really hard to get there?"

"I'm not the one turning up at pureblood balls and dancing with Death Eaters and Dark Lords," he snapped, sensing the rising ire like a bloodhound, determined to stoke the fire, "Getting mixed up in circles like that is dangerous."

"I'm well aware."

"Are you? Because it seems a hell of a risk you're taking with no real plan."

"What makes you think I don't have a plan?" Hermione fought to control her temper; this time's Sirius Black was turning out to be just as infuriating at her own, "Just because you do everything with little to no thought doesn't mean everyone else around you does too."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you haven't got the presence of mind to plan your actions, now or in my time."

"How are we meant to know you're who you say you are?" He changed topics, veering away from his real or perceived irresponsibility, "How are we meant to know you're not a Death Eater playing for _him?"_

"I've provided my proof to Dumbledore," she gritted her teeth, "If you don't want to believe me, fine, I don't actually need you."

He lunged for her, catching her off guard and gripping her left hand, "What's on your arm?"

" _What?"_ she tried to tug her arm out of his grip, but he was taller and strong than her, kneeling in the grass over her.

"You've got something on your arm, what are you hiding?" His face was twisted in suspicion as she doubled over to prevent him from pulling up her sleeve, "Are you marked?"

She reared back in horror at the suggestion and he took the opportunity to push her robe up her arm, a triumphant gleam in his eye. The gleam morphed into an expression of consternation when he registered the jagged scar, _MUDBLOOD,_ carved into her arm.

Although the wound no longer bled, it still looked raw and violent, radiating Dark magic and marring her terracotta skin. She pulled her arm from Sirius's slack grasp.

"Happy?" she snarled, her chest heaving.

"How-"

"Bellatrix Lestrange tortured me for three hours under the Cruciatus Curse, and when I wouldn't break and tell her what she wanted to know, she decided that spilling my dirty blood was the best way to convince me."

His skin was blanched, and his mouth opened soundlessly, his eyes still glued to the scar.

"The Dark Lord," her voice barely hitched on the moniker, "decreed that magical blood should not be spilt, but _mudbloods_ were fine. Because we're not _really_ magical, we're barely even human."

He shook himself out of his daze, his skin taking on a green pallor, "Why don't you glamour it?"

"Because I don't want to," she replied, shifting so the sleeve fell across it again, "I'm not ashamed of it. Glamouring it feels like letting her win, like being a mudblood is something I should be ashamed of."

"Don't call yourself-"

"Why shouldn't I?" she said fiercely, echoing a conversation with Ron years earlier, "Mudblood and proud of it."

"What if someone see's it?" Sirius tried to argue, feeling a flare of irritation when she rolled her eyes.

"I'm not an idiot, Sirius. Obviously, I glamour it when I'm around them."

He opened his mouth again, but she cut him off, "I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but I'm not wasting energy on your games, there's a war going on."

She turned in a small circle and disappeared with a muted crack.

* * *

 **Authors note:** **Hi again everyone! I have a second chapter ready to go out very soon and I've also started a new Regulus/Hermione fic called Silver Tongue, Golden Heart. Check it out if you're one of the ones ready my Reg in this and wanting a pairing out of it.**

 **Please read and review!**

 **~Alycat**


	9. 8: Billet Doux

**[8] Billet Doux**

 _7 October 1978_

 _Dear Ms Selwyn,_

 _Thank you for your letter. Classes are dull and the castle is draughty as we approach the cold months. My house dormitory is located beneath the Black Lake on the grounds, and as I'm sure you can imagine, we do not get a lot of sunlight to warm ourselves in the morning._

 _My favourite class currently is Transfiguration. The professor is Minerva McGonagall – being educated in Europe you may have read some of her publications. Unfortunately, the British Ministry is very by-the-tome with education, so I had to seek these out outside of class. McGonagall is brilliant, although she's a halfblood. We are learning about Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration to lead into Conjuring, which is the focus of the entire NEWT test for Transfiguration._

 _I quite enjoy Potions also, though some people have a knack for it that I just can't seem to master. My friend Severus is studying a mastery right now, and he has a mind for potions. He would likely enjoy discussions with you, you seem the type to argue a point._

 _I look forward to hearing of your latest adventures._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Regulus Arcturus Black_

 _Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

 _9 October 1978_

 _Dear Mister Black,_

 _I was delighted to hear from you so promptly. Tales from your mother had me anticipating waiting a month for your response, but perhaps I did not account for the chore that writing to one's own mother can be. When I attended school, my mother wrote every week. At first, I replied immediately, but as I got older time grew scarcer, and there weren't enough minutes in a day to be writing home every week. I also became considerably more independent and felt less need to write often._

 _I must encourage you to write to your family though, because you never know when they will be taken away from you with no chance to say goodbye. The last six months have been difficult to trek alone, and I only wish I had taken advantage of their company while they were still here._

 _Moving away from sadder topics, I have read a lot about your Professor McGonagall, both through my schooling and in my own research. Did you know she is an Animagus? Have you seen her transform? She is one of 7 Animagus in all of Britain, and a truly incredible witch. Transfiguration was also one of my favourite topics, and I scored well in my G.O.L. (Grim Onerous Life and Enchantment Modules). Conjuring is an excellent skill to have._

 _As for what I have been doing, I split my time between absorbing as much of the Black family library as I can and being dragged along to afternoon teas with your mother. Of course, I am grateful for the patronage of your family but (and don't tell your mother I've said so) the teas are so_ _ **dull,**_ _and no one really wants to discuss the implications of Albus Dumbledore's discovery of the healing properties of dragon blood._

 _I will end my letter here with hopes that I have not become a past-time that warrants a response once a month or less._

 _Affectionately yours,_

 _Hermione Jean Selwyn_

 _Heiress to a small burnt-down manor in Portugal and Patronee of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

 _11 October 1978_

 _Dear Ms H J Selwyn,_

 _Your letter was received during the breakfast mail and heartily laughed over as I sat in the back of A History of Magic class. Unpurse your lips, I can feel your disapproval from here – our History of Magic teacher is a ghost called Binns. He died one day some 70 years ago and got up and went to class anyway. Unfortunately, his dying has also meant that his lessons have not caught up with the recent history of the Wizarding world and the Goblin Wars become unspeakably dull when you are on your seventh year of learning about them._

 _I will endeavour to write to mother more often, if only to stop her sending an owl every second day pestering me for a reply because she has seen I write back to you. (No, don't say sorry like I know you want to, writing to mother is a small price to pay for the pleasure of your correspondence). I think she is pleased, though I must warn you that she almost certainly has designs to marry you off to me, if what my cousin Narcissa says is true._

 _Narcissa says she met you at one of the afternoon teas, and sympathises with their perpetual dullness. She is married to Lucius (did you know that? I feel like it is not new information for you.) and as you know, they are having troubles with producing an heir. She is a lovely woman and sharper than you would expect from a witch of her standing. I would encourage you to reach out. She may not be interested in dragons' blood specifically, but she will argue for hours of the merits of dragon hide in potions AND fashion._

 _Today my dorm mate Amycus woke to find his hair had been turned bright yellow overnight. I say with a reasonable amount of certainty that I have not seen a Cheering Charm go quite so awry before, but regardless it was amusing._

 _I am a prefect, as you may know, and seventh year prefects are in charge of the Halloween Feast. I'm very sad that you may never get the chance to see Hogwarts in all her splendour, but the decorations are always a sight to behold. I will send a picture when we have finished decorating but suffice to say before this year I had not realised quite how much went into the whole display._

 _Something to think about – the third principal exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration states that intentional curse damage cannot be reversed. If someone's arm is lopped off with a Slicing Hex, transfiguration can't be used to regrow the arm, but no one seems to have thought about_ _ **reattaching**_ _the arm. Could that be an exception to the exception? Or is this a simplistic view and I am missing something obvious? McGonagall seemed unwilling to investigate the possibility._

 _Write soon._

 _Your faithful correspondent,_

 _R A Black_

 _Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and potentially limbless wonder_

 _11 October 1978_

 _Dear Mr R A Black,_

 _DO NOT CHOP YOUR ARM OFF._

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Hermione_

 _11 October 1978_

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I remain fully limbed and still none the wiser to Gamp's exception's exceptions._

 _Yours,_

 _R.A.B_

 _12 October 1978_

 _Dear Regulus,_

 _In answer to your question, hypothetically speaking you should be able to reattach the limb with a simple Sticking Charm. Muggle Healing reattaches errant limbs using a type of needle and thread, and the flesh and nerves reconnect in the healing process. Maybe curse damage would hinder that process? Regardless, it's not something I'd like to experiment with without a large healing team to back me up. To repeat my previous advice, DO NOT CHOP YOUR ARM OFF._

 _Yes, I have spoken to Narcissa, she is a gentle soul. I wish her all the luck with her pregnancy though my premonitions are not favourable._

 _Your mother tries her hand at subtlety, but she is a very blunt witch, so it is very obvious what her plans are for me. She took me to a_ _bridal shop_ _yesterday afternoon "just to gauge my taste" she said. I hoped to steer her away from arranged marriages, I think the practise is barbaric, but apparently you English Purebloods have your traditions. I am unphased – you are not the worst husband I can think of._

 _I look forward to seeing the Halloween decorations._

 _Yours regardless,_

 _Hermione_

 _Your future indentured servant (wife)_

 _12 October 1978_

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _You lavish me with compliments. I look forward to mother organising the "not worst ever" wedding to the "not worst wife" and having a "not that terrible" life. I am joking, of course. I'm sure you will be a wonderful wife when my mother eventually bends us both to her will. Don't tell her I said that. In fact, it might be best if you burn this letter and tell her I have met my tragic demise with the Giant Squid in the Black Lake._

 _Interesting to hear of the Muggle way of Healing. It sounds ghastly and positively medieval. They sew the skin together? What happens if the limb is damaged?_

 _I imagine that Muggles are prone to infection. Magical blood cleanses most common infections and the others are easily treated with potions, but the inferior blood I imagine has reduced efficacy, not to mention the filth they live in. How does the limb not just rot away?_

 _Eagerly awaiting your response,_

 _Regulus_

 _Your future not-the-worst husband and heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

 _14 October 1978_

 _Dear Mister Black,_

 _Your mother is in deep mourning following your watery departure and told me to tell you that she deeply regrets that our pending marriage was so horrifying that you resorted to dalliances with tentacles. She didn't, of course, but I do so hate talking about taffeta and doilies. I couldn't give a hoot about the fashionable lace patterns in Witches Weekly and I think if I'm asked about wanting children one more time, I will have to join you at the bottom of the Black Lake._

 _Muggles have similar hygiene standards to us, at least in western Europe and Britain, and especially in hospitals. They have invented ways to kill germs and infections without magic. Given your otherwise apparent intelligence I'm a little baffled that you subscribe to such baseless claims as blood purity._

 _I'm not well versed in Muggle healing, so I can't provide an in-depth explanation of the process, but if the limb is damaged beyond repair, they can fashion an artificial one to do the job._

 _I will be returning to Portugal for a week and a half tomorrow to take care of some family affairs with our attorney. I will write on my return._

 _I remain your affectionate correspondent,_

 _Ms Selwyn_


End file.
